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Flawless
Heather Graham
No one writes suspense like Heather Graham! Read this brand-new romantic thriller by one of today's most popular authors…There's a pub in New York City that's been in the Finnegan family for generations. Now Kieran and her three brothers own it. Kieran Finnegan is also, as it happens, a criminal psychologist—a fitting reaction, perhaps, to her less-than-lawful teenage past.Meanwhile, New York’s Diamond District has been hit by a rash of thefts. No one’s been killed—until now. FBI agent Craig Frasier is brought in to investigate; he and Kieran meet at a jewelry store in the middle of a heist. She’s there to “unsteal” a flawless stone taken by her light-fingered youngest brother as an act of vengeance. Craig’s there to stop the gang.But the police and FBI begin to wonder if there are two gangs of diamond thieves, the original and a copycat group of killers—who seem to think their scheme is as flawless as the stones they steal.Thrown together by circumstance, drawn together by attraction, Kieran and Craig are both assigned to the case. But to Kieran's horror, there’s more and more evidence that, somehow, the pub is involved. Because everyone goes to Finnegan’s…


No one writes suspense like Heather Graham! Read this brand-new romantic thriller by one of today’s most popular authors…
There’s a pub in New York City that’s been in the Finnegan family for generations. Now Kieran and her three brothers own it. Kieran Finnegan is also, as it happens, a criminal psychologist—a fitting reaction, perhaps, to her less-than-lawful teenage past.
Meanwhile, New York’s Diamond District has been hit by a rash of thefts. No one’s been killed—until now. FBI agent Craig Frasier is brought in to investigate; he and Kieran meet at a jewelry store in the middle of a heist. She’s there to “unsteal” a flawless stone taken by her light-fingered youngest brother as an act of vengeance. Craig’s there to stop the gang.
But the police and FBI begin to wonder if there are two gangs of diamond thieves, the original and a copycat group of killers—who seem to think their scheme is as flawless as the stones they steal.
Thrown together by circumstance, drawn together by attraction, Kieran and Craig are both assigned to the case. But to Kieran’s horror, there’s more and more evidence that, somehow, the pub is involved. Because everyone goes to Finnegan’s…

Flawless
Heather Graham


www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Dedicated to NYC—overcrowded, crazy,
wonderful, diverse,
filled with history, theater,
music, art, architecture
and wonders that can be seen nowhere else.
To the resiliency of
those who live and work
in this great American city.
And to Mr. Korbin Pozzessere,
whose parents,
Derek Pozzessere and Yevgeniya Yeretskaya,
somehow met and fell in love in this
massive sea of people!
Contents
Cover (#ub3cb3254-2a2c-5c36-91db-5d4d083cba12)
Back Cover Text (#u1f7c3688-6831-50af-b271-ac3ae9bb7505)
Title Page (#u8469f163-6f13-54bf-92b4-c09e19c8a5bf)
Dedication (#ucfbd1f63-a0ba-5995-9ca7-8ae9147b9f4e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u26795b19-d998-5c5e-8e0c-40b6a6879e90)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1120e788-f483-57c6-986b-f2e6ef3b1eb0)
CHAPTER THREE (#u254ff0c0-51f8-50b4-95e7-75f8e3af64c8)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ud8cd57b3-e2cb-58d1-bdeb-234cb8b2f23c)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_127b4f9c-8319-5a17-8825-5b84fc2e0d66)
“I’M OKAY. REALLY. But I have to tell you what I did. Well, he deserved it, of course,” Julie Benton said over the phone.
“What did you do?” Kieran Finnegan asked. So far, she’d only been half listening; Julie’s tale of woe had been going on for quite a while now.
Kieran wiped the bar, one eye on her task, the other on the patrons in the pub.
Thankfully, at the moment she could easily work and listen, despite the fact that the object of Julie’s venom—her almost ex, Gary Benton—was one of the few other people at Finnegan’s on Broadway, the family downtown pub, one of the oldest in the city.
Julie giggled. “He deserved it,” she repeated.
Kieran didn’t doubt that. She just wished she couldn’t see Gary as she was talking to Julie.
She never minded cleaning Finnegan’s since it was practically her family home. It was a beautiful old place with finely carved wood, a range of tables and booths, and this classic bar with its array of beer taps and collection of Irish whiskeys. Photographs of the pub through the years hung behind the bar. Beyond was a comfortable dining room, equally rich in wood decor and handsome carving.
They weren’t particularly busy at this off-hour of the day, between lunch and happy hour.
Bobby O’Leary was at one end of the bar; although he was an alcoholic long in recovery, Finnegan’s was the center of his social life. He was still one of their favorite customers.
She’d given Bobby his standard soda with lime, and he was reading the Times.
Two groups of business executives on extended lunch hours remained. Three were at one table, and four—including Gary—were at another. Finnegan’s wasn’t even officially open. They closed between 3:00 p.m. and 4:30 p.m., according to the sign on the front door, but their clientele consisted mainly of friends and regulars who knew they could come in and receive service with a smile. Both tables had paid their bills and were lingering over coffee. Kieran had served them all their final refills—managing not to spill any scalding coffee on Gary—before she’d started cleaning.
And before Julie had called. She refrained from mentioning to Julie that Gary was at the pub; frankly, she was stunned he’d come in at all. He wasn’t wanted here. But he was with Jimmy McManus—a longtime customer and entrepreneur who’d made a fortune in everything from magic mops to designer dog food and Wall Street trading. Jimmy was a great guy with a headful of white hair and a quick smile, taut and fit despite his fondness for a good Irish stout. They were joined by two men who seemed to be friends of Jimmy’s. Kieran hadn’t allowed herself to run over, grab Gary by the lapels and throw him out on the street. But until the coffee refill, she hadn’t gone near the table. Mary Kathleen, a recent recruit from the old country and the love of Kieran’s brother Declan’s life, had been working the floor. She’d waited on the table, but she’d left at three. Which meant Kieran had no choice except to take over.
The other two at Jimmy’s table were men Kieran had seen in the pub before but didn’t really know. One was dark and one was pale. They were friendly, polite and dressed in handsome business suits, like many of the pub’s clientele, who walked down from the Wall Street banks and firms where they worked.
They all looked richer than Gary Benton, that was for sure. Maybe he was trying to learn how to join their ranks.
Making a point of not looking toward the table, Kieran finished the last of her cleaning and the setup for happy hour while listening to Julie. Now that part wasn’t easy, and not only because Julie and Gary were in the middle of the sad dissolution of their marriage.
Gary had wanted the divorce. Kieran knew things sometimes just fell apart. It was always difficult and distressing, but in this case, Gary’s treatment of Julie had seemed deliberately cruel.
Julie needed her friends, and Kieran felt she had to be there for her.
Don’t look over at Gary. Just listen to Julie, she told herself. Yes, listen to Julie and be a good friend.
And clean up the pub without pouring something over Gary’s head. She might not care if Gary ever came back, but she didn’t want to drive Jimmy and the others away. Finnegan’s wasn’t her full-time job, but it was her family’s business and important to them all, herself and her three brothers.
Finnegan’s was a true Irish-American pub. Her grandfather had bought it from a cousin when he’d come to the United States after the Second World War. It had actually been owned and operated by a Finnegan since shortly after the Civil War. Not only did they have a wonderful bar selection, with excellent beers on tap and high-end call brands, they also offered good pub-style food. People came to eat and drink, but they also came to socialize, to meet up with friends. Sometimes, during off-hours like this, that meant waiting around until the current Finnegan in charge of the place—her oldest brother, Declan, these days—or another family member or server came by.
Although it wasn’t her real job anymore, she was always happy to help out at the pub. She had a career as a criminal psychologist now. But she hadn’t been working with Doctors Fuller and Miro long enough to conduct an extended phone therapy session with Julie, even if she considered this crisis in her friend’s life as something that could lead to a serious mental health issue. Luckily, she had the day off—Dr. Miro was at a conference, and Dr. Fuller had taken a vacation day and ordered the staff—Kieran and the handsome young receptionist and assistant, Jake Johnston—to do the same thing.
“I was calm, Kieran, I swear,” Julie said. “You need to understand that. Calm—and clever.”
That was good, Kieran thought. Calm. Since Gary had first started his hell-bent attempt to ruin their marriage, Julie had veered from wild rages to copious tears. Kieran couldn’t blame her. Gary had gone out of his way to be hurtful. He’d brought his new girlfriend to their home, made love with her in his and Julie’s bed, and somehow the girlfriend had “accidentally” left her panties there. He’d emptied their joint bank accounts and, possibly cruelest of all, told Julie she no longer attracted him sexually. More—he claimed he found her repulsive.
“What did you do?” Kieran pressed warily.
“Well—” Julie giggled again “—you’ll be glad to hear I didn’t somehow get hold of a gun and shoot him.”
“I am glad to hear that. So what did you do?”
“What he did was worse. I went to stay with my parents and left the house to him,” Julie continued. “He says he can’t stand living with me, but apparently I’m not supposed to leave, either. He called to tell me I’d better get back to feed my damned dogs. He kept them in their crates, hadn’t let them out at all! They were starving, Kieran, and covered in their own waste.”
Kieran glanced over at the table where Gary was seated. He’d risen with the others now; they were on their way out, which was a relief. She wouldn’t feel tempted to inflict bodily harm.
She watched him leave. He was a good-looking man, but Kieran had never been particularly fond of him. There was something...slimy about him, in her opinion. His quick, oh-so-charming smile usually meant he was planning something devious. He sold precious stones and jewelry at a high-end store in the Diamond District, and he’d often told Julie he had to take some woman out for dinner or drinks because a big sale was in the offing.
Slime.
She and her brothers had tolerated him for one reason and one reason only. Because they loved Julie, their friend since childhood.
But he’d left the dogs locked in their crates?
“That’s horrible. You should call the police on him. Either that or move out. I’ve told you to come and stay with—”
“The dogs and I won’t fit in your apartment,” Julie said.
That was probably true; Kieran’s apartment on St. Marks Place was the size of a postage stamp. But she didn’t care if she, Julie and the two dogs were all crammed in there. Animal abuse was never acceptable.
“We’d make it work,” Kieran told her. “And if he’s actually being that horrible, you need to get out of there. I really think you should call the police. There are laws against that kind of thing.”
“Oh, I don’t want the police involved.”
Kieran winced at that. She wasn’t fond of police intervention herself, even though her new position would soon have her working with them often enough. While her oldest brother, Declan, had become a completely respectable citizen, her other brothers—her twin, Kevin, and their baby brother, Daniel, who was a whole year younger—still had “friends” involved with various street gangs. They were trying to go straight, but it was easy to fall back into their old ways. She’d had some bad times herself during her teenage years. Like Declan, however, she’d known that things could spiral downward, so she’d gone to college, majoring in criminology and specializing in criminal psychology. In a sense she was paying for her past—and making her past pay.
They’d never done anything too terrible. Declan had made some “deliveries” for the McNamara clan, an Irish family that had challenged the Garcia gang. But after their father’s death, he’d decided he was going to be the head of a family that would live and thrive and succeed in NYC. Kevin had hung out with the O’Malley family, really just a loose connection of thugs. High-school stuff. Danny had actually joined the Wolves, another loose-knit group proudly based on the TV show Dexter, but without the murders. They stole from those who stole from others, sweeping up their cell phones and hacking their computers in turn. He’d come the closest to being in real trouble when a rival group had caught him and some hackers at the school library and started a massive brawl.
Kieran remembered a time when life had seemed good and normal, even though they’d lost their mother when they were young. Then their father had died almost ten years ago. Declan had been in college at the time, and he’d felt the weight of responsibility for his siblings and to family tradition. He’d gone straighter than an arrow. Kieran, who’d only gotten occasionally involved with computer hacking and a few minor thefts, quickly followed suit, graduating from high school with stellar grades. Declan had made clear to his younger brothers that he had zero tolerance for bad behavior, so they’d realized they had no one to bail them out of serious trouble and struggled to keep their noses clean. They’d been doing that, as far as she knew. The problem with Kevin and Danny was that they both believed in justice—their version of it—even when the law didn’t.
“Kieran, are you there?”
“Yes, yes, and I want to hear the end of the story.”
Julie laughed softly. “It’s good. I promise you, it’s good.”
A sense of unease began to stir in Kieran. “Julie, just tell me, what did you do?”
“Did I mention that whoever he’s fooling around with left her thong in the bed? My bed?”
“Yes, I know, and that’s deplorable. But what did you do?”
“I got over the crying. I don’t want you to think I did anything crazy because I was crying hysterically or out of my mind with grief or anything.”
At that, Kieran’s reaction went from unease to real concern. She looked up, forced herself to flash a smile to Bobby, refilled his glass and asked Julie to hang on for a minute.
She stopped trying to do anything useful; she had to concentrate on this conversation. She headed to the end of the bar, out of earshot of everyone else, and leaned against it. “Julie, what did you do?” she asked again.
“I was very nice, actually. His boss called the house, asking if I knew where he was. I said I didn’t. Then I went and bought doughnuts and take-out coffee, and brought them down to the store.”
That sounded nice so far. In Gary’s business, client and coworker relationships were important, because the amounts of money clients spent and the employees’ commissions were so high that cooperation literally paid. After all, better that the proceeds were shared than never earned at all. Julie was well liked by Gary’s friends and coworkers. She was quick to assist when asked and enjoyed role-playing—pretending keen interest in a piece of jewelry when a possible buyer was studying it. In the process, she’d learned a fair bit about how to judge the quality of diamonds.
But Julie hadn’t gone down to the store to be nice; Kieran was certain of that. “Julie, what exactly did you do after that?” she asked.
“I handed out doughnuts. I apologized to his friends and coworkers for the fact that he hadn’t been showing up when he was supposed to, and I explained that they’d have to find whatever woman he was sleeping with to know where he was. I saw his boss last. I asked him to save one glazed doughnut with a hole in it so Gary would have a place to put his dick in case one of his new girlfriends got wise to him.”
“That was it?” Kieran asked.
Julie giggled. “Oh, no. I want him to really hurt.”
“So then?”
“Well, then they acted all awkward and said how sorry they were. I just said, well, it was over, and how much I liked all of them, but I wouldn’t be able to come in and pose as a potential customer anymore.”
“And that was it? Right?”
“Well...almost,” Julie said. “You have to understand, Kieran. I wasn’t stupid about this. I was calm and charming. I’m so ready for all of this to be over.”
“And that’s good. Close the door. Start fresh.”
“You remember, don’t you, how I didn’t even want to get married right away?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I wanted to go to California and earn my master’s. Take some time. He talked me into getting married.”
“We all make mistakes, Julie. But back to what you did...” Kieran hesitated. “So you left the shop and that was it,” she said hopefully.
“Well...”
“Oh, Lord. Julie, if you wanted to hurt him, you should’ve just called animal control or the police. I’m sure they would have taken action for what he did to the dogs. You might have gotten him fired just for that. In any case, he would’ve been in trouble somewhere with someone.”
“Trust me, he’s already going to be in enough trouble,” Julie said.
“And why is that?”
“They’re going to find out that the Capelleti Diamond is gone. And Gary was the last one to handle it.”
Kieran’s heart slammed against her chest. “No! You didn’t—did you? Did you steal the diamond, Julie? Tell me you didn’t. That’s grand larceny! Did you steal that diamond?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Julie said.
“Thank God,” Kieran murmured.
“I’m no good at stuff like that! I’d never try to steal anything. I was just setting Gary up. Making sure his boss and everyone there knew he had a reason to steal it, what with a new girlfriend and an expensive divorce.”
“Get to the point!”
“Well, the point is... I had your brother take the diamond for me. I admit I don’t know that many, but Daniel’s the best thief I’ve ever met—besides you, of course.”
* * *
Craig Frasier headed down the hall to the office of assistant director Richard Eagan and ran into Mike Dalton, who was approaching their boss’s office from the opposite direction.
Mike grinned at Craig. “I’m baa-ack!” he said happily.
“Glad to see it.” Craig grinned in return and couldn’t help asking, “So, how’s the ass?”
Mike gave a nonchalant shrug. “Every part of me is doing fine. As for you, you’re just a wiseass kid,” he said.
They’d been partners for five years, and at thirty-four, Craig hardly considered himself a kid. But he and Mike were more than partners; they were friends, as well. Although they could joke about it now, they’d been chasing a suspect in the murder of an up-and-coming politician in the Poconos when Mike was injured. He’d dodged behind cover to avoid a bullet from the Beretta the supposedly unarmed suspect had suddenly stopped to fire and caught the bullet in the left buttock as he took his dive. Craig had taken down their suspect, winging him in his right shoulder. The Beretta had gone flying, and the suspect had been arrested—in pain but alive. He’d provided information on his coconspirators in the murder, and the crime had been solved. It had been a good day for their unit, but Mike had spent several days in the hospital after that, and then a month at home on forced medical leave.
Mike had informed Craig that it was his fine solid ass that had saved the day. An embarrassing injury, Craig had pointed out, one that had resulted in all the inevitable remarks.
Naturally, even as they teased him, his coworkers were grateful that his injury wasn’t worse and that he would easily recover.
“Good to have you back,” Craig said, and he meant it.
In Mike’s absence, he’d been paired with Marty Salinger, the new nerd on the block, a by-the-book-until-the-pages-ripped kind of nerd. Craig had just about crawled out of his skin every time Marty insisted on backup when the clock was ticking or refused to make a move without direct permission.
Craig had made it through some hard situations, situations in which going by the book was no help. He’d worked undercover in narcotics, and more than once, fast thinking had saved his life—and the lives of others.
Marty would learn. Sometimes the book was important and gave them what they needed; sometimes, a good agent was better off making split-second decisions without it.
But hell, Craig himself had learned from Mike. Mike had been with the agency twelve years; he had experience and resolve. At five-eleven, he was shorter than Craig by four-plus inches, but he was lean and fit and determined to stay that way. He and Craig spent hours training. They both ran, and participated in the various sports events the agency sponsored.
They both spent long hours at the gun range, too; shooting skills had to be kept sharp when you worked in the field.
Mike had been offered desk jobs over the years. He didn’t want them. It would happen soon enough, he’d told Craig, but he still had work to do making sure he had Craig trained properly. It wasn’t entirely meant as a joke.
Now that memory made Craig think about Marty. One day he would probably be a good field agent; Craig just didn’t want to be the one stuck teaching him. He liked knowing that Mike had his back. He was always afraid Marty would be checking some manual to see if it was all right before he entered the fray.
Luckily, everything had been straightforward during the weeks Mike was out recuperating. Craig and the new kid had been assigned to a gang shakedown. Intelligence had been good, and they’d made a number of arrests without a drop of blood being spilled.
Craig had recently come off that detail, and with Mike newly returned that day from medical leave, they were being called in to see the assistant director.
“You know what this is about?” Craig asked.
“Not a clue. Hey, this is New York,” Mike said. “Could be anything.”
The New York State office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was the largest in the country, and since New York City had such a massive population, most of the agents were assigned to the city and its environs. The New York office had agents assisting with cases across the country. However, since 9/11, the delegation of duties had changed somewhat. There were now special divisions in the New York office that handled practically everything, from fraud and income-tax evasion to organized crime, gangs, kidnapping, murder, terrorism and more. The units worked together to assess a situation and strategize the best approach. After all, as people often said, Al Capone had been brought down not by a hail of gunfire but by the brilliance of an accountant.
Within the different divisions, there was a small group of agents who’d earned a place in one of Eagan’s special task forces. Craig and Mike fell into that category, so a trip to Eagan’s office was always intriguing. They never had any idea what the assignment might be, except that it was usually in conjunction with another law enforcement agency.
The director’s assistant indicated that they should go on in. “He’s waiting for you,” she told them.
Craig opened the door for Mike. “After you, my friend. I’ve got to watch out for the elderly and the injured.”
“Don’t you mean you should step aside for maturity and experience?” Mike said. “But never mind. You go first.”
“Ah, but I don’t want the door catching you in the ass—the back, I mean—if you go in last,” Craig said.
“Low blow!” Mike protested.
Craig inclined his head. “Okay, we’ll call it maturity and experience.” He held the door and followed Mike in.
Richard Eagan was looking out his window when they entered. “Take a seat,” he said, turning toward them. “File folders are in front of you.”
Eagan was a ramrod of a man. Fifty-plus, he was as fit as a teenager—something he worked at with the same discipline he observed in the office. He was a decent man, but he hadn’t kept one of his six wives for more than a year; none of them had truly grasped his overpowering dedication to his work.
Craig knew that because the last two had cried on his shoulder. Marleen, wife number six, had warned him, “Don’t let this happen to you, Craig. When you find the right woman, find a balance between work and life. I was all for Richard saving the world. What I didn’t realize was that he never meant to save himself.”
He knew that Marleen had been genuinely worried about him. Too many casual relationships had lasted only until he was working around the clock again. Truth was, he had his own reasons for not pursuing a serious relationship. He’d actually begun to explain, but then he’d stopped.
They just don’t make them like the one I lost anymore.
He sat quickly and Mike did the same, and they picked up their folders, scanning the material.
“Jewelry store robberies?” Mike said. “I’ve been following this on the news, but—”
“There’s been a change,” Eagan said. “Two thefts in the past two days. And now, two dead.”
Craig glanced at him in surprise. The NYPD had been dealing with the rash of jewelry store robberies. Every one of the five thefts that had taken place during the previous weeks had been within the five boroughs of NYC and fallen under the jurisdiction of the city police. Even with the two deaths, it still seemed to be a situation the NYPD should be handling.
“They’re killing people now?” Mike asked. “I hadn’t seen that on the news.”
“It hasn’t been on TV yet. I’m having a press conference with the chiefs of police and the mayor in an hour. We’ve been holding off, pending notification of next of kin. And, of course, to coordinate efforts between agencies.”
“We’re in?” Mike asked.
“Yeah. State lines and all, since now New Jersey’s been hit, too. Twice. Anyway, it’s all hands on deck. You two will be lead, but you won’t be the only special agents involved. Hell, every law enforcement officer in New York and the tri-state area will be alerted and working on it. The last two robberies took place right over the bridge in Jersey City. The elderly gentleman who owned one of the stores was staying late, doing his books, when he was shot and killed.”
“You said there were two murders?” Craig asked, flipping through the folder he’d been given.
Eagan nodded gravely. “There was a murder at the next store that was hit, too. A night manager was there, and a cleaning woman was working in the showroom. She was abducted, then murdered in the alley behind the store.”
“What about the manager? Any idea why he was left alive? Did he see anything?” Craig asked.
“He was in a back office. When he came out, they grabbed the woman as a human shield and dragged her away. They shot at him and missed, and apparently were in too much of a hurry to care,” Eagan said.
“Video surveillance?” Mike asked.
“Yes, but the thieves wore hoodies and ski masks,” Eagan said.
“Are we sure that these thieves and the ones who hit the Diamond District are the same?” Craig asked.
“Same MO. Breaking in after closing time, they wear gloves, so no prints. And all the security footage shows the thieves wearing the same disguises,” Eagan said.
“But it’s not the same MO anymore,” Craig muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s changed,” Craig said. “Escalated. Five robberies with no one hurt. And now we have two dead. Seems odd to me that they’ve suddenly become violent.”
“Maybe they got desperate for some reason,” Mike suggested. “The pressure of time or whatever.”
Craig shrugged. “Maybe these are copycats. Copycats who kill.”
“Could be,” Eagan said. “Get up to speed, see what you can find. And let’s hope to hell we’re not looking for two different sets of thieves. Jewel heists are one thing, but murder...”
* * *
“What is the matter with you?” Kieran demanded. Her voice was harsh, even though her words were almost whispered.
She wasn’t meeting with her best friend and her miscreant youngest brother at Finnegan’s. No way could she have done that without Declan getting wind of it. Didn’t matter that he wasn’t at the bar right now. The customers, the servers, everyone—even the damned walls—seemed to have eyes and ears.
She’d met them at a nondescript chain coffee place down the street from Finnegan’s instead.
Daniel looked sheepishly at Kieran, turned to Julie, then back to Kieran. “Julie’s like a sister to me,” he said defensively. “And her scumbag husband deserves the worst. Kieran, he could’ve killed those poor dogs, not to mention the emotional crap he’s been putting Julie through!”
Daniel was obviously a Finnegan. Everyone in the family had some shade of red hair. Declan’s was a medium-reddish brown, Kieran and Kevin were a darker auburn, while Daniel had the lightest coloring among them. Her uncle had once said that visiting the hospital after the twins, and later Daniel, were born seemed pointless, since he’d gone to see Declan and they’d all looked like the same baby.
At the moment Kieran figured she really did resemble her youngest brother. Her expression was pretty much the same. She completely shared his indignation at the man who had hurt Julie in so many ways.
But she—unlike her brother and, apparently, Julie—had acquired some common sense.
Julie had an excuse; she was an emotional mess.
As for Daniel...
The diamond was still in his pocket. Kieran was aware that all three of them were now in on the theft of a flawless stone worth at least half a million dollars.
“Let me rephrase this. What the hell were you two thinking? You’re talking grand larceny!” Kieran said.
“But I don’t want the diamond!” Julie insisted. “I don’t intend to keep it. I just want to get him in trouble for stealing it. Or losing it, if his boss feels like giving him the benefit of the doubt.” Petite Julie, with her short blond hair and big brown eyes, looked as innocent as a newborn babe as she stared at Kieran. “You know how his store works. Each sales agent is responsible for a certain collection of diamonds and other stones. Any of the associates can show them, but the sales agent has to count and log them in at the end of the day. I just—I just wanted Gary to suffer for a while. I wanted him to sweat it out. When there’s a count, it won’t be there. He’ll be in major trouble. I couldn’t care less about the stone itself.”
“Oh, God!” Kieran said, sitting back and crossing her arms. “There’s been a rash of jewelry store holdups. Don’t you two idiots see? You’re in the same category now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never been armed,” Daniel protested. “I didn’t hold anyone up. I just pocketed the stone.”
“It has to go back right away—as in now,” Kieran said. She scowled at her brother. “How exactly did you manage to take it?”
He shrugged. “Well, I said I was there to see Julie’s scumbag almost ex—”
“You said that at his place of work?” Kieran asked.
“No, of course not,” Daniel said indignantly. “I knew he wasn’t in at the time, since he was here. At the pub, I mean. So I asked Neil Davis if I could see Gary’s stones in particular—after, of course, acting disappointed that he wasn’t there. I know Davis is the king of the lazy asses because Julie’s told me about him. He’d just want the sale, and he wouldn’t count until the end of the day. I said I’d heard Benton had some great stones that could be set in the design of my choosing and that I wanted to create the perfect ring for my fiancée. And he did the usual jeweler thing—displayed the unmounted stones on a velvet cloth on the counter. Then I told him he had a fleck of something on his chin, and when he turned to the mirror, I pocketed the stone.”
“You’ll be on a security tape filching that diamond,” Kieran said, her heart sinking. How the hell was she going to get him out of this one?
“Don’t be ridiculous. I made sure my back was to the camera and that my head blocked it.”
“They’ll still come after you. They’ll go through the security tapes and see that you’re the one hiding his face. Neil can describe you, and Gary will know exactly who you are,” Kieran said. “Give it to me. I have to get that stone back before they realize it’s missing.”
“No, Kieran. I’ll take it back there,” Julie told her.
“Don’t be a fool. You have no finesse when it comes to doing anything dishonest,” Daniel said. “You’ll look guilty as hell, and you’ll wind up confessing, saying you did it. Gary might have you arrested, not to mention what his boss might do.”
“I left the house, trying to give him space to screw anyone he wanted, and what did he do? He nearly killed my dogs!” Julie said, tears rising to her eyes.
“Asshole,” Daniel muttered, placing his arm around Julie. “He doesn’t deserve you. There are good guys out there, and you’ll find one, I swear.”
Kieran lowered her head, listening to the two of them. They just didn’t get it.
“You idiots,” she said. “This wasn’t just juvenile—it was criminal. Yes, Gary’s behaved like the worst and most despicable jerk on earth, but, Julie, if you want to get even, get over him! Finalize the divorce and learn to live a better life on your own. And, Daniel, how could you, you dunce? You’ve stayed out of trouble for years. You’re working. You have a life and a career ahead of you. Think. You’ve risked your whole future. Both of you have to think about yourselves. Forget about Gary. Do you understand?”
They both reddened, nodding their agreement.
“Give me the stone,” Kieran said to her brother.
“No, I’ll get it back where it belongs,” Daniel said.
“No! If something goes wrong, they’ll have you on tape twice. I’ll go. And you can’t go with me, Julie. If Scumbag’s there—” She cut herself off. “If Gary is there, I can say I’ve just come to ask him to start behaving civilly. If he’s not there, I’ll...I’ll let it fall on the floor when no one’s looking, pick it up and just hand it over. What you did is serious. I mean years-in-prison serious, grand-larceny serious, you—”
She stopped herself. She wasn’t going to call them idiots again.
Even though they were, she’d made her point.
Daniel very casually reached into his pocket and handed her the stone. Casual was the way to do it. She should know. They’d all been proficient at pilfering little things during those difficult early years. Gum, candy—small stuff. Now she understood that they’d been bitter and unable to handle the death of their mother, so they’d acted out.
They’d been good at it. What wasn’t good was that they’d never been caught. They hadn’t been hauled down to juvenile court, then threatened with their father’s wrath and whatever the system could do to them.
“I’m terrified that you don’t realize what you did. Grand larceny. You could be put away for years and years. Honestly, this is no joke. And no lie—sometimes the sentences for theft are longer than the ones for murder,” she said sternly.
They both looked contrite, but what scared her was that they still didn’t seem to comprehend just how foolish they’d been. How dangerously foolish.
She pointed a finger at her brother. “You promised me. No more stealing.”
“But I wasn’t stealing it. I was just...borrowing it for a while.”
“My company works with the police,” she retorted. “Aside from everything else, think about the position you’ve put me in.”
“You’re a psychologist who works with a bunch of doctors,” Daniel said.
“Who work with the police,” she finished. “You—”
Julie broke in. “It was my fault,” she said.
“Yes, in a way it was,” Kieran said. “And then again, no. Daniel is responsible for his own behavior. Daniel, I need you to promise me, once and for all, that you’ll never steal again.”
“Kieran...” he murmured, glancing away. “This was an exception. I did it for—”
“Daniel.”
“All right, I promise.” She could tell by the way he looked at her that he knew she doubted him. “Never again. I swear it on our parents’ grave.”
That, to her brother, was a solemn vow.
“I wonder if they’ll even miss it,” Julie said. “The diamond, I mean.”
“You wonder if they’ll miss it? A flawless stone worth a half a million or more?” Kieran asked incredulously.
“Like you said, there’s been a rash of jewelry store holdups in the city.”
“Yeah. Armed men come in and wipe out half a store. Do you think Gary’s boss and coworkers wouldn’t notice if they’d been held up by men with guns?”
She checked her watch. She had to leave now if she was going to make it before the store closed for the day.
“What do you want me to do now?” Daniel asked her.
“Cover for me at the pub.”
“I’ll help him,” Julie offered.
“No, you won’t. You’ll go home and walk your dogs. That way Daniel can say I’m dealing with something for you and it won’t be a complete lie. Declan will understand.” She stood. “And don’t you ever—ever—put me in this position again.” She stared at them hard. “I can’t believe what I’m about to do. I’m heading off to unsteal a diamond.”
She turned away. She had to hurry because time was against her now. Pretty soon the staff would be counting receipts and logging the day’s sales as well as inventorying the jewelry and stones they’d shown that day.
She prayed she could keep Daniel out of jail—and not land both of them in the arms of the law.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_70c68538-6931-57b6-bf1e-0b6b877a2f98)
WALLY O’NEILL, a civilian tech employed by the FBI, was working with Craig and Mike, viewing the security footage from the jewelry stores. They could have looked at the videos alone, but Craig was glad they had Wally’s help. He was a whiz when it came to cameras, computers...anything digital.
The security footage showed that all the robberies had been carried out in much the same way.
Quickly, for one.
Three men—or they looked like men, anyway—in dark jeans, hoodies and ski masks suddenly converged on the door and entered the store. They burst in with guns out. Not one of the recording devices allowed for sound, but Craig was certain that the first man to break in roared that no one had better set off the alarm or someone would die.
No alarms had been set off, but in the last two robberies, people had died anyway.
“Okay,” Mike said, “since they’re dressed alike, maybe they come from different directions or time it so each one is slightly ahead of the next guy to avoid calling attention to themselves. I mean, half the kids in America walk around wearing hoodies with their heads down and hands shoved in their pockets, but the ski masks are a real attention getter. I’m betting they don’t put those on till the last minute.”
Mike was probably right about that, Craig thought. In New York City, with crowds everywhere and people walking in every direction, their own agendas in their heads, there would be no particular reason to notice someone dressed like that. And Jersey? Pretty much the same story.
“They don’t split up when they leave, though,” Craig pointed out.
“There’s gotta be a getaway car idling somewhere nearby.”
“They committed the murders in Jersey. They’re either getting bolder—or they’re not the same crew.”
“That again,” Mike muttered.
“I might be right.”
“You might be wrong.”
“Yeah, I might be. In fact, I hope I am,” Craig said.
Wally cleared his throat. “Uh, guys? What do you want me to do now?”
“Roll the last two,” Craig told him.
Wally hit a key and brought up the crime-scene photo from the alley. He quickly apologized. “Sorry, pushed the wrong button.”
“It’s all right. We’re going to have to go over that, too,” Mike said.
They all stared grimly at the photo. The woman was dark haired and wearing a cover-up over her clothing—her way of staying clean while she swept and dusted, Craig thought.
She was lying on her side, almost as if she were sleeping. Except that a pool of blood billowed out from beneath her hair.
Mike looked at his folder. “Ana Katrina Martinez, forty-seven. Small-caliber bullet fired at point-blank range right through her forehead. Cartridge not found and the bullet is still in her brain. The ME will supply it to ballistics right after the autopsy.”
Craig felt a swell of emotion. Ana Katrina Martinez wouldn’t care what kind of bullet had killed her, and neither would her family. They would only care that her killer was caught. Even dead in a pool of blood, she had a kind face. Craig thought she had smiled frequently in life. “Why her?” he muttered angrily.
“Because someone was a grade-A sociopath with no concern for anyone other than himself,” Mike said. “You’d have to be,” he added gruffly, “to kill someone just because she was no longer useful. Hell, they were probably still in their ski masks—she couldn’t have identified them.”
Wally cleared his throat. “Stay with this image or roll the footage?”
“Roll the footage,” Mike said.
“So in the city they leave everyone alive,” Craig said. “Then they go to Jersey and leave a woman dead in an alley.”
“And a man dead at his desk,” Mike added.
“I can’t help but think it’s different perps.”
“Just different states. I’ll bet you a twenty. No, I’ll go a hundred.”
“It’s a bet I hope I lose,” Craig said.
“What are your thoughts on the matter, Wally?” Mike asked.
Wally looked up at them with surprise. Craig figured that his expertise was often sought, but not his opinion.
“I’ve enhanced the footage as much as possible. If they’re copycats, they have the clothing and the ski masks down perfectly,” he said. “I don’t know—I just don’t know.”
“Let’s watch again—then we can start with the interviews,” Mike said.
“Whatever you want,” Wally said.
“What about the murdered jeweler?” Craig asked.
“You’ll see that on the footage,” Wally said.
They didn’t see the death of Ana Katrina Martinez on the computer screen; no camera had captured that.
They did see the death of the elderly owner of the first store. He looked up, said something and appeared to be willing to do whatever the men wanted.
Then he was shot, and he crumpled over.
Mike looked at the files again. “Arthur Kempler, eighty-four. He owned and managed Kempler’s Fine Jewelry for over fifty years. Never had so much as a parking ticket.”
“They didn’t need to kill him,” Wally muttered.
Neither Mike nor Craig disagreed with him.
“Go back to the first robberies,” Craig told Wally.
Wally nodded. “Right away.”
In the earlier heists, they saw the thieves exit by way of the front door, the same way they had come in.
Only in New Jersey had they used the rear exits, at least so far.
“In those first five robberies—as the cameras show—they went back out into the street,” Mike said. “And they were casual about it. I figure within a few steps they had their ski masks off, and in another few steps the hoodies were gone and no one would have known they’d been wearing them at all. They didn’t hide from people—they used them. They melted in with the crowd until they got to their getaway car or the subway and left the area.”
Craig shook his head. “Okay, let’s look at all the footage again. I’m telling you, these aren’t the same thieves.”
“How can you be so sure?” Mike asked. “Look at the New York footage. Three of them each time. Walking in and making it all happen fast. Then New Jersey. Same outfits, same number of guys—except in the first one, the bastards shoot the owner, and in the second, one of them grabs that poor woman and drags her out the back door.”
“No, go back—go back and look at the height differences. There—look at the first tape. Two the same height, one shorter. Now go to the first store that was hit in New Jersey. None of them are the same height,” Craig said. He looked at Wally. “Wally, sorry, run them again. Slow them down.”
Wally obliged, and they watched the footage again.
Mike sighed. “How the hell are you seeing that? Maybe they’re the same size—or maybe they’re not. They could be wearing different shoes, for all you know. The perspective’s so crazy there’s no way to know for sure.”
“I just don’t think they’re the same. I think the second group are copycats. Except that they kill.”
“What’s the likelihood of two sets of thieves with virtually identical MOs starting up at the same time?” Mike asked, exasperated.
“Why not? Some criminal opportunist sees what the first guys are getting away with and figures he’ll give it a shot himself. Only he doesn’t give a damn about human life.”
“Let’s watch them one more time, then start interviewing the first cops on the scene, and the staff and customers who were there,” Mike said. “Wally?”
“Yeah, yeah, one more time,” Wally said. “And I can do comparison ratios—tell you who was and wasn’t the same height.”
“Great. For now, freeze both of the shots I’m talking about, please,” Craig said. “Can you show them to us side by side, split screen?”
As Wally brought up the two shots, Craig heard Mike’s phone buzzing. Mike picked it up, and Craig watched his partner’s features tighten.
“On our way,” Mike said. “Wally, hold tight to that footage. Craig, looks like they’re at it again. We have a chance to catch them red-handed and learn the truth. Let’s go.”
Craig stood quickly, thanking Wally again, and the two men headed out to their car.
“Where’s it going down?” Craig demanded as they walked. “What’s going on? Did someone trigger an alarm this time?”
“No. No alarm. People are just getting more nervous and, thankfully, more vigilant. They’re watching for men in hoodies near jewelry stores. And the thieves are right in the Diamond District this time. Sonny Burke from Atlantis Gems just called in to say he saw three men in black hoodies heading down Forty-Seventh Street. That place is a smorgasbord for diamond thieves. Damn, they’re getting bold!”
“I’ll drive,” Craig said.
“I’m back, Craig. I’m good. Honestly. I’ve got it.”
“You drive like an old woman. Give me the keys.”
Mike didn’t argue. Craig was the better driver and Mike knew it. He tossed over the keys.
* * *
This will all be over soon. It will be fixed. Everything will be okay, Kieran told herself.
She had the diamond; she was appropriately dressed to shop in a jewelry store of the stature of Flawless. The store was in the Diamond District, up on Forty-Seventh, so she’d had a ways to go to get there. She would have chosen a cab with the diamond now in her keeping, but she’d been afraid of getting caught in traffic, so she’d headed for the subway.
She’d been lucky enough to get some traveling in when her father had been alive, but she’d spent the majority of her life in New York City, even attending NYU. She’d taken the subway system all her life.
Today she found herself looking suspiciously at everyone who boarded her subway car. She shifted and moved to a new spot at each stop. If she lost the diamond to a casual pickpocket, all her efforts to save her brother would be doomed. And with technology being what it was, she wasn’t certain that there still wasn’t some way to prove that he had taken it.
I’m not his keeper, she thought to herself.
But, in a way, she was. She’d been the one girl in the family. Her father had been a wonderful man, as proud of his daughter as he was of his sons—and quite ready to open a can of tuna for himself without help. But she had taken on a certain role in the house—different with Declan, of course, because he had her by two years. Like it not, she felt responsible for both her younger brothers, even though she was older than Kevin by a mere seven minutes and her baby brother by only a year.
She’d been “the girl.” Spoiled shamelessly, according to her brothers, but...
It seemed girls really did mature more quickly than boys, and continued doing so even as adults.
Nope. She couldn’t go by that. After all, Julie had helped develop the idiotic and dangerous scheme.
She arrived at her stop and made it to street level with absolutely no trouble—other than the usual rush of people. New Yorkers weren’t rude, despite their reputation, and most of the time they were actually quite pleasant and happy to help anyone who looked lost. There were just a lot of them, and it seemed that everyone was in a hurry to get where she was going. Several people said “excuse me” as they jostled past, and she said the same to several other people in turn.
Once she reached Forty-Seventh Street, she walked along until she saw her destination, Flawless.
She felt sad, remembering how excited they’d all been when Gary had gotten the job. He’d started working there soon after the wedding, just a little more than a year ago.
While the shop—like many others in the Diamond District—advertised Exceptional Quality for Exceptional Prices, it was a high-end and well-respected store. It had been in the Krakowsky family for four generations; landing a job there without being a Krakowsky was no easy feat.
But that was then, and this was now.
In truth, she was glad that she wasn’t going to run into Gary today, given her desire to bash him over the head with something. Julie’s words had been true. She hadn’t wanted to rush into marriage; Gary had. Julie was a video game designer and loved what she did, and she’d wanted to go further in her career. She’d been all set to head to grad school in California when Gary had begged her to marry him.
It was ironic.
She was glad that Gary had gotten this job after the wedding. He was friendly with his coworkers, and at that moment she was glad that she didn’t know any of them.
She heard the soft sound of the buzzer as she entered the store. The door, she knew, was connected wirelessly to a camera that counted and recorded every entrance and exit made at the store.
There was a large showroom filled with display cases. To her left the cases held diamonds set in yellow gold, to her right were cases with diamonds set in white gold and through an archway beyond there was a small display nook for gems of various sorts set in platinum. Beyond the counter—where some of the finest pieces were displayed—were the offices and the private rooms where salesmen sat down with important clients and served champagne while discussing the merits of the best stones. She knew all this because Gary had once described the setup for them.
She arrived just as one of the salesmen was drawing down the inside shutters that protected the window displays at night. He didn’t challenge her entrance, however, but smiled at her.
It wasn’t quite closing time; he was just getting ready.
“Good evening, miss,” he said to her, smiling again.
“I’m sorry—you’re closing,” she said.
“Mr. Krakowsky is in the platinum room with another customer—you’re fine,” he told her.
The salesmen here dressed in designer suits and were perfect gentlemen. This one was in his early forties, she thought, with dark brown hair neatly clipped and a clean-shaven face.
“What can I show you?” he asked her.
“Actually, I was looking for Gary Benton,” she said. “Is he working today? He’s a friend,” she added, almost choking on the word. “And that’s why I came—he speaks so highly of the store.”
“No, I’m sorry. At the moment it’s just me and Mr. Krakowsky. But I’ll happily show you whatever you’d like to see.”
He was still standing too far from the display cases for her to pull off her sleight of hand.
She smiled sweetly. “I heard you have some exceptional loose diamonds.”
“Of course,” he told her, grinning. “We are in the Diamond District, after all.” He offered her his hand. “I’m Matt Townsend. How do you do?”
“Kieran Finnegan,” she told him, shaking. “A pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “Come over here, if you will.” He led the way to the counter.
He walked around behind it as she followed him, and ducked down to open a safe beneath the counter.
A chill swept through her. She was suddenly terrified that something would go wrong.
It couldn’t go wrong; she had to remain calm, act normal.
She looked casually around the shop as she waited. She glanced at the security camera, estimating her brother’s position when he had pilfered the stone.
She looked away to avoid suspicion, then looked quickly back at the camera again. Reflected in the lens she could see someone entering the store—another late customer.
No, not another customer.
The man was wearing a black hoodie, which shadowed his face. And she couldn’t see his face because he was also wearing a ski mask.
And he was pulling a gun from his pocket.
He was followed quickly by a second man—his twin in every detail.
Kieran felt her knees grow weak. She’d read about the recent run of jewelry store robberies, but...
But there were dozens of stores in the Diamond District. Why had the thieves picked this store on this day?
“Stay down,” she said softly to the salesman.
They hadn’t killed anyone yet—had they? Even so, there was always a first time.
And when there were guns involved, there was no sense in taking a chance.
No diamond was worth a man’s life.
“Stay down,” she repeated.
But either the salesman didn’t hear her, or he heard her and had no idea what she was talking about.
He rose, setting out a velvet cloth with several uncut diamonds. “Here you—”
He broke off, staring. Kieran’s back was to the new arrivals, but she knew Matt Townsend had a clear view of them and the gun—guns?—that was undoubtedly pointed at him now. He stepped back, raising his hands.
Just at that moment, a distinguished-looking older man came in from the platinum room with a young woman in a gorgeous fur coat.
The woman saw the thieves and screamed.
“Shut up or I shut you up!” one of the gunmen said. “You got two seconds.”
She didn’t hear him. She was still screaming and was clearly hysterical.
Kieran turned to see the first man pointing his gun in the screaming woman’s direction, while two others—when had the third man entered?—kept their guns trained on Matt.
Kieran wasn’t sure what propelled her—maybe it was the stark raving fear that if he shot one person he would shoot them all—but she wasn’t about to let the terrified woman die, much less put them all in the morgue. She hurried over to the young woman and slapped her cheek, then took her face in both hands and said softly and firmly, “Stop. Stop right now. We’re going to live. We’re all going to live, all right?”
“Smart girl,” one of the gunmen said.
The woman had stopped screaming. The older man—Mr. Krakowsky—looked at Kieran with what she thought was gratitude in his eyes.
“Take whatever you want,” he told the thieves. “We won’t move a muscle to stop you or set off the alarm.”
“Good call, old man,” the second gunman said. “You,” he told Kieran. “You look bright, and you’re definitely pretty—there’s got to be a guy out there somewhere who wants you alive. And you’re obviously the type who would really like to see everyone survive here today. So if you listen carefully to my every word, we’ll all be able to sleep in our own beds tonight.”
She wasn’t sure if being called bright and pretty by a gun-wielding thief was a compliment, but there were three men in her life who loved her very much: Declan, Kevin and Daniel.
She clung tightly to the concept that everyone would live.
“So, Red,” the thief continued, “scoop up those diamonds on the counter. Now. And you, guy behind the counter, get out the other diamonds down there in your safe. The really good ones. And you, Red, you make sure he does it. I want all of them.”
“Do what he says,” Mr. Krakowsky advised.
“And, Red, watch him, because if you lie to me, Screaming Mimi over there gets it first.”
Matt ducked beneath the counter again. He was shaking.
“If the alarm goes off, I shoot every one of you,” the thief promised. “I’m a crack shot. Six bullets, only four of you. No problem.”
Townsend was far too terrified to hit the alarm. He brought out five velvet cloths filled with loose diamonds and set them on the counter.
“Now, man behind the counter, go ahead of me. Get out your keys so you can open the back door. Old man, you and Screaming Mimi get down on the floor. Come on—move. Time is of the essence.”
Everyone stared at him—frozen—for a split second.
“Down,” Mr. Krakowsky said, pressing the young woman to the floor with him.
“You,” the first gunman snapped to Kieran. “Get those stones and come with me—now.”
Kieran stared at him. She wondered whether she could even move, she was shaking so badly. Some instinct came to her rescue. She swept up all the diamonds while the thief who had done the talking headed to the back with Matt Townsend. A second one moved to stand close to her. Even though she knew that his gun wasn’t touching her, she still thought she could feel it.
The third remained near the door, oblivious to the camera, his gun ready.
The thief in charge shouted from the back that the door was open. Kieran stood with the velvet-wrapped diamonds in her hands, frozen once again.
Then the nearest gunman grabbed her arm and turned, walking backward and keeping his eyes on Krakowsky and the other customer as he pulled her down a hallway and toward the back door.
He fired a shot as he walked; she felt the pistol’s kick shoot through her via his grip on her arm. The sound was deafening.
She couldn’t tell if anyone had been hit or not.
All she knew was that she was being hustled through the store and out the back door.
The alley beside the store had once been an open-air path. It was still a pedestrian passage, but now it was flanked by new buildings—new as in maybe only fifty or so years old—and boasted sidewalk cafés at both ends.
“Move!” the third man shouted, hurrying to catch up to them. “Someone in there must have set off the alarm. Hear the damned sirens?”
Her captor shoved her toward the wall, and all she could do was wonder if they would or wouldn’t shoot her in the back.
But before she hit the wall she was grabbed by the third man. “Keep her—we may need her,” he said, wrenching her around to face him. His eyes were like chips of blue ice. “If you—”
He stopped speaking for a moment, and she saw his eyes widen. Did he know her? she wondered.
He quickly found his tongue again. “We’re going to run, and you need to do everything I say. If you don’t, I will fucking blow a hole right through you. Got it?”
Kieran was trying so hard not to shake that she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to move. She finally nodded.
“Good. Now run. And don’t hold me back. Don’t trip, don’t falter, don’t stop for any reason. Your life depends on it.”
* * *
The moment Craig brought the car to a screeching halt, double-parking next to a silver Mercedes, he and Mike leaped out. They were already communicating via headsets, ready for whatever they might find inside.
A half dozen uniformed NYPD cops had arrived just ahead of them and were lined up outside the door of Flawless.
Mike produced his badge and said, “FBI. Anyone go in yet?”
“Just got here,” one of the cops said.
“We’ll take it easy—there could be people in there,” Mike said. “If two of you will cover me on the left, I’ll take the door. Craig, what are you thinking?”
Craig had been studying the building and thinking about the best way in.
Space had been at a premium in NYC for decades, if not centuries. Buildings tended to be flush against each other, but there were exceptions. In this instance, there was a café at the end of the block, with tables spilling out on a throughway that led to the back of the building. An old archway suggested another narrow alley at the back of the building that fronted the block, an alley that presumably ran between the buildings that faced one street and those that faced the next.
“Going around—there’s bound to be a back door,” he told Mike briefly and pulled his gun.
He didn’t wait for a go-ahead or a reply but moved as soon as he was done speaking.
He heard Mike’s voice in his ear. “Hey, watch what you’re doing. You need backup, you say the word.”
“I’m good, no problem yet,” he said in return.
He moved as quickly as he could and rounded the corner. He saw that there was an actual archway on the end of the alley, space enough for some outdoor seating for a chain luncheonette.
There were people at the tables.
“Move!” he shouted, threading his way through them. “Move!”
“What the fuck—” someone said.
“We’re moving in,” Mike said over Craig’s earpiece.
“You take care.”
“I have backup.”
Craig swore softly, running into a chair a man had pushed back.
“Dickhead!” the man said.
“Move—”
“You dickhead!”
“Move. FBI!” Craig roared.
The man moved and then someone screamed and everyone got out of his way.
Craig realized then that he was wielding his Glock.
“What’s going on, Craig?” Mike demanded.
“I’m running!” Craig panted.
He tore down the pedestrian alley as fast as he could move.
As he reached the rear of the jewelry shop he could see that the back door was open.
He heard Mike’s voice again in his ear. “I’m inside. Two people in here, both okay. One is old man Krakowsky. He said they went out the back and they have a hostage.”
“I’m on it,” Craig said.
Dammit. The thieves had been there—and they were a step ahead.
He could see people running at the other end of the alley.
Men in black hoodies. And they weren’t alone.
Mike had been right. They had a hostage. A woman was being dragged along with them.
At least she wasn’t dead on the ground in the alley.
Swearing, Craig cranked up his pace.
As the thieves neared the street, he saw that they were heading to a van that was waiting at the end of the alley, a commonplace white van.
The sliding door was open, the driver obviously waiting for his companions to jump in.
One of the thieves drew the woman out of the way as they reached the sidewalk. Another brandished his gun.
People were screaming everywhere. Some were running; others, too startled to move, stood where they were.
Right in the way of the thieves.
And in his mind’s eye, all Craig could picture was the video of the thieves shooting the manager. And of the dead woman lying in an alley.
“Craig, what the hell are you doing?” Mike demanded.
“I’m on them.”
“You’re on them how? Wait for backup.”
“I can’t—I’ll lose them.”
He could hear Mike cursing.
“Can’t talk—running!” Craig said.
The thief holding the woman turned and saw—in the midst of the chaos—that they were being followed. He shoved her into the van and jumped in after her.
Craig practically flew toward the street. The last of the thieves was entering the van, and the door hadn’t closed yet. He couldn’t fire, though; he could too easily hit the woman or an innocent bystander.
He was going to need both hands, he thought, and shoved his Glock back into the holster nestled into the small of his back. Then he launched himself through the open door.
He pitched headfirst into one of the thieves and heard a cracking sound—the guy’s head hitting the far wall.
The driver screeched into traffic, rounding the corner onto the avenue and yelling, “What the hell...?”
His entry had been something like a bowling ball striking the pins at the end of the lane. All three thieves went sprawling. The woman was facedown, and he was somehow entangled with her legs.
“Craig, what the hell’s going on?” Mike demanded.
“White van going south on Fifth,” he said.
The thief he’d catapulted into was out cold. That left two more, plus the driver.
He heard a cacophony of shouting in the van. And through his earpiece, he could hear Mike cursing Craig beneath his breath between giving orders to stop every white van on Fifth.
Then Craig saw that one of the men was rising and that he had a gun. Craig reacted, rolling the woman onto her back as he struck out with his left foot. He caught the guy right in the jaw, and he stumbled back awkwardly, then fell flat on his rear.
Craig barely missed getting whacked across the head by the third man. But he ducked in time and head butted the man in the gut.
By then the second man was moving again. He lifted his gun and aimed at Craig’s head.
He never got the chance to fire.
Craig was astonished—and incredibly grateful—to see that the woman had not only moved, she’d found a tire iron and cracked the thief hard over the head with it. He went down like a brick.
The panel door suddenly slid open. The last of the thieves hopped from the moving vehicle.
The driver suddenly stepped on the gas. Craig looked out the windshield and realized that they’d miraculously hit a clear patch of Fifth Avenue.
Craig knew he couldn’t have gone after the thief anyway. The woman was still in the van, and the driver was alive and well.
Now his lead foot on the gas sent both Craig and the woman flying. He landed half on top of the unconscious man she’d hit and half on top of her.
For a moment he got a good look at her face. Mid to late twenties, brilliant blue eyes, deep red hair, fine bone structure and porcelain skin.
He got moving again quickly, staggering to the front, pulling the Glock out of its holster as he went, then pressing the muzzle against the driver’s head.
“Pull over. Now.”
“Ah, hell,” the driver muttered. He added a few colorful expletives, but, as ordered, he pulled over to the side. Craig cuffed him and then went back to cuff the other two, easing their guns out of reach as he did so, swearing inwardly. A takedown wasn’t easy when he was stooping over the whole time to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling of the van.
The young woman was getting to her feet at that point, and he realized she was tall enough that she needed to stoop, as well. He met her eyes. They were a stunning crystal blue, almost impossible to look away from.
“Thanks,” he told her. “You saved my life.”
“I think you saved mine,” she said.
“Oh, fuck you both,” the driver said. “No one saved anyone. We don’t kill people. We’re thieves. We don’t even use real guns!”
Craig spun around toward him and then bent down to pick up the thieves’ guns.
It was an incredibly real copy of a Smith & Wesson. And it was made out of plastic.
He grabbed the other weapon off the floor of the van; it, too, was an excellent copy and, like the first, made of plastic.
“Where the hell did you get these?” Craig demanded.
The driver laughed. “Toy store,” he said. “Check that one out. It’s a water pistol.”
“You idiot. Don’t you know that the police would shoot you, whether these were real or not?”
“Police never should have caught us,” the driver said.
“Am I hearing this right?” Mike demanded over the earpiece.
Craig wasn’t sure how Mike could hear anything, frankly. By now sirens were ripping through the air and police cars were surging around them.
He slid open the panel door, holding out a hand with his badge showing. “Lower your weapons. FBI. The situation is under control.”
He looked back at the driver.
The guy wasn’t wearing a ski mask or a hoodie. He looked like any other blue-collar worker in a Yankees’ beanie and a plaid flannel shirt. He was about thirty-five, Craig estimated. Brown hair, neatly trimmed beard and mustache.
Someone’s all-around good old boy uncle, perhaps, come to the big city.
Craig realized that he and the woman were no longer in danger—not as far as this crew went. He regretted the fact that he was now certain he had been right.
There was a copycat group working the streets. With real guns—guns that killed.
He’d won the bet with Mike.
He wished that he’d lost.
Two groups...
And the one that killed was still out there.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_79f73559-12a0-5dc5-b6f6-0e560bf2fb3b)
ALL KIERAN WANTED to do was escape, but getting away wasn’t going to be that easy.
The police and the FBI and everyone else who had shown up where the van had stopped needed to speak with her.
At least half of them were convinced that she needed medical attention.
She was somewhat banged up. There weren’t seats in the van—the back had been empty except for some tools, including the tire iron she’d used on the thief when he’d had a gun trained on the FBI agent.
Except that it hadn’t been a gun at all; it had been a water pistol. However, she didn’t feel quite so foolish, because Mr. FBI hadn’t known it was a water pistol, either.
Why the hell did companies make such accurate children’s toys? Were they trying to help raise the next generation of crooks?
She needed to leave. She needed to get back to the pub before Declan started worrying about her.
But instead she was stuck sitting in the back of an ambulance, wrapped in a blanket and drinking coffee while desperately trying to convince the police and EMTs and whoever else was there that she was fine and just needed to leave.
Finally one cop told her, “Sorry, miss, you’re not going anywhere. You’re the best witness we’ve got against these guys.”
“But I really need to go to work.”
She hadn’t seen the agent who had leaped into the van like a fullback since the cops had sounded and he had jumped out again. An officer had helped her out, and then others had entered the van to gather up the thieves, who were now on their way to a police station somewhere to be held for arraignment. She’d overheard the driver, a good old boy with a beard and flannel shirt, inform them that he wasn’t talking to anyone until he had a lawyer.
She had turned over all the diamonds to the police—including the one her brother had pinched.
She realized that she was now actively afraid of explaining to Declan what she had been doing. She had promised to work that night, and while Daniel might manage for a few hours, he wasn’t up to handling the night crowds.
One of the EMTs came over to her. “You should really go to the hospital for a checkup, just to make sure you’re all right. Sounds like you got pretty shaken up in that van.”
“I swear, I’m fine,” Kieran said, putting a little more pressure on the ice pack pressed to her cheek.
“Everyone who was in there looks as if they’ve been in the ring with Ali,” the EMT said. He kept talking, but Kieran didn’t hear him. She was too busy being horrified by the reporters—with cameras—who had arrived on the scene.
She had to get out of there.
She slid off her perch. She’d told her story at least three times: once to a nice-looking man in his late thirties wearing a pin-striped suit, once to an officer in uniform and once to an older man with gray hair and a grim face. They’d said something about statements and the DA’s office getting hold of her. Fine. They had her information and they could call her later.
She did not want to appear on the news.
As she slipped around the ambulance, hoping that she could just blend into the crowd, she stopped short. The FBI agent who had literally jumped to her rescue was talking with the man in the pin-striped suit she had spoken with earlier.
“The bosses want you to make a statement, Craig,” the man in the suit was saying. “They want you to say that the jewel thieves have been caught.”
“Mike, they haven’t all been caught. These guys didn’t kill anybody. Don’t you understand? They were running around with toy guns!”
“Yeah, toys now. How do we know that they weren’t packing the real thing before? That they weren’t expecting to be caught sooner rather than later and were determined not to go down for murder?”
“Mike, why would they think—”
“Because it’s hit the news, Craig. Two people dead—you didn’t think that they’d be able to keep a gag on it long, did you?”
Kieran froze where she stood.
Two people were dead?
Killed by the same thieves who’d taken her hostage?
She stared at the two men in shock.
“Yeah,” her savior—Craig—said. “And I’m telling you, the killers are still out there.”
What the hell? Did he really believe that there were more jewel thieves out there, only carrying real guns?
“Just for a checkup,” someone said behind her.
She turned. The earnest EMT had followed her and was still trying to convince her to go to the hospital.
He flashed a light into her eyes, his own eyes worried as he examined her. “You need medical attention.”
“No, I don’t,” Kieran said.
She looked away from him and saw that FBI agent Craig—was that his first name or his last? she wondered—was standing only a few feet away, staring at her.
She felt a moment’s panic, then remembered that he’d managed to pass the stolen diamond to the police along with the others.
With any luck whatsoever, no one would know that it had ever been in her possession. Thank God she’d managed to give it back, even if not in the way she’d planned.
Thank God neither she nor anyone else had been killed.
“Miss Finnegan?” he said.
“Yes,” she said. She hoped he couldn’t hear the note of guilt in that single syllable. And why should she feel guilty, anyway? She hadn’t stolen the diamond. She’d been trying to do the right thing—and she’d been kidnapped for her efforts.
“I’m special agent Craig Frasier,” he said, and then he smiled, which changed his countenance entirely. He had high, strong cheekbones and a jaw that appeared to be made of stone. He was tall and dark haired with light eyes that drew her attention and seemed to home in on her like—like truth-seeking beacons.
“I know you’ve told your story several times, but would you tell it again to me?” he asked her.
“There’s not much to tell,” she said. “And you were there at the end, so...”
“But I wasn’t there at the beginning. You went to the store why? Were you looking for a premade piece or a unique stone you could have set?” he asked.
She looked at him, wondering why guilt had immediately set in. “I went to see some loose stones. A friend of mine was married—still is, technically speaking—to one of the salesmen there. She’s interested in buying one of the stones he handles, but she didn’t want to see him, so she asked me to go and look at them. It turned out he wasn’t working, but anyone can show another salesman’s stones. But before I could see them, the thieves came in.”
“And had you ever seen any of them before?”
She shook her head. “I still haven’t actually seen them. The ski masks, you know. But none of them sounded familiar. I’ve definitely never seen the driver before.”
“Yeah, this is New York, after all,” he murmured.
She couldn’t help but smile drily. “You mean we all live by the ‘don’t make eye contact’ rule?”
“I’d like you to come in tomorrow and take a look at some pictures of the men,” he said.
“Why? You can’t need a lineup. You caught them all red-handed.” The thief who escaped from the van had later been apprehended by one of the officers.
“I’d still like to know if they look familiar to you in any way.”
“I’ll come, but...”
“I’ll send a car for you,” he said. “Around ten?”
At ten she would be working her job at the Midtown offices of Doctors Fuller and Miro.
And she knew for a fact that her employers—whose main work came from police consultations—would have no problem with her helping the police.
She started to look around for her purse, which one of the officers had brought to her. She dug into it and produced a card. She remembered how pleased she had been to have a card with the prestigious names of her employers on it—along with her own.
“You’re a psychiatrist?” he asked.
“Psychologist,” she said. “May I go now? I have to get back to work.”
“You see clients at night?” he asked skeptically.
She shook her head, annoyed to find herself flushing slightly. “I’m a bartender, too. Family. I bartend for the family. I mean, the family doesn’t have a private bartender. We own a pub. Finnegan’s on Broadway. I’m still helping out there.”
She was annoyed with herself for babbling. She didn’t know why he made her feel so off-kilter.
Guilt!
But she hadn’t done anything. She’d returned the “borrowed” diamond, for heaven’s sake.
But there was something about the way he looked at her... It was his eyes, she thought, so light against the bronze of his face. She realized that he was tall and solidly built and really good-looking.
She flushed and looked away. Sex appeal wasn’t something she should be thinking about right now.
Especially when people had been killed in a situation like the one she had survived.
“You should let them take you to the hospital,” he said, “and make sure you’re all right. We were flying around pretty good back there.” He smiled again, and she was shocked by what it did to his face. His pin-striped suit was rumpled and his tie was askew, so he wasn’t looking quite as ruggedly GQ as he might have, but his smile made him seem far too...attractive.
“I’m fine. Really. I have three brothers. I’ve been through much worse,” she told him. “Really, I just want to get to the pub.”
“I’ll get an officer to drive you,” he said.
“It’s all right. I can hop on the subway.”
“Not if you want to avoid the press—which I very much hope you’ll want to do,” he told her.
“I do want to avoid them, but why do you want me to?”
“Police should handle the press spin, that’s why,” he said. “Stay right there. I’ll get an officer to drive you.” He pocketed the card she’d given him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded as he turned and left, then watched as he went over to join two other men in suits who were deep in an animated discussion about something no doubt related to the events of the afternoon. His answer had been logical, but she felt as if he’d hesitated just a shade before answering her. Why?
Suddenly her view was blocked as a uniformed NYPD officer moved to stand in front of her.
“Miss Finnegan? I’m here to drive you home.”
She wasn’t heading home, of course, but to the pub. She gave him the address and told him where it was. He smiled. “I love that place,” he said with a broad smile. As they drove, he told her that Finnegan’s was a favorite watering hole for him and a number of his friends—when they were off duty, of course.
He stopped in front of the bar, and she thanked him as she got out. There was an employee entrance that led to the offices, but she knew it would be locked by now, so she walked in the front.
To her shock—and a bit of dismay—the pub was doing a booming business. Mary Kathleen had even come back in for the evening shift. On a Monday, it shouldn’t have been so crazy, but it was.
And the first person to spot her was Declan.
Her older brother was handsome and charming and—in her opinion—the best host and barkeep in the world. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a movie as he worked the bar in his white shirt with rolled up sleeves and green brocade vest. But when he saw her, he folded his arms over his chest, a frown settling onto his face.
Danny bounced out to greet her, his eyes wide with warning. But it was too late. Declan was already coming around the bar to confront her. “Are you crazy?” he asked. His tone was furious. “And look at you! You look like you were competing in the mud-wrestling championships!”
She took a deep breath and was trying to figure out just how she was going to explain herself when he threw his arms wide and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank God you’re all right!”
Crushed against his chest, she felt her mind race.
What did he know? What did he think?
“She’s here!” Bobby O’Leary cried. “The woman of the hour!”
“All hail our kick-ass hero!” Jimmy McManus, sitting down the bar from Bobby, lifted his beer glass.
The darker of the two men she’d seen with McManus was there with him. Thankfully, there was no sign of Gary Benton.
Kieran froze, then slowly emerged from Declan’s embrace. Everyone in the place was looking at her and applauding.
“What, um, what...?” she muttered inarticulately.
“The television—check out the television,” Danny told her, hugging her tightly for a long moment.
Kevin, her twin, had emerged from behind the bar, too, and he also hugged her warmly, whispering, “I know you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but if you took chances... I came into this world with you, sis, and if you leave it before me, I won’t be able to cope.”
“I love you, too,” she murmured, then finally got a glance at the TV. A reporter was in the middle of explaining that a brave hostage had helped the FBI take down the thieves. And she was clearly visible in the shot behind him, which showed her seated in the back of the ambulance, a blanket around her shoulders and a cup of coffee in her hand, as an EMT spoke to her. The reporter was still going on about her courage under fire.
Except there had been no courage. There had been no choice.
She smiled weakly, waved a hand and managed a soft thank-you, then dodged behind the bar and ran to the offices in back.
Declan was right behind her, closing the door to the office behind them. She noticed that he’d brought a clean wet bar rag with him and looked at him questioningly.
“You’re still wearing a fair amount of dirt. You roll in an alley or something?” he asked.
He was watching her with his arms crossed over his chest again. Even so, she could tell that he was truly grateful to see her alive and well.
She could also tell that he knew there was more to the story.
“You were buying diamonds?” he asked her. “Instead of coming to work?”
She accepted the bar rag from him, sank into the chair behind the desk and studiously scrubbed at her face. “No, and I’m sorry. I didn’t think that the bar would be this busy. I—”
The door burst open. Danny rushed in and hurried over to her, dropping to his knees by the chair. “You’re really all right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, my God, when I saw...” Danny sounded sick and shaky.
She patted his red hair gently, reassuringly.
“Kieran, you went there to talk to Gary Benton, didn’t you?” Declan demanded.
She went very still, looking at Danny. “Yes,” she said.
“Kieran, we all love Julie. She’s been our friend since we were children. I don’t like Gary one bit myself, and the way he’s treating her is awful. He’s a total jerk, and we should all be looking forward to the day when Julie is finally rid of him. I should have expected... Well, he was in here this afternoon, right? You don’t need to answer. Bobby O’Leary told me he was. And then you got upset and went to tell him... Well, I don’t care what you thought you were going to tell him. It’s only by the grace of God that you’re alive and well. Kieran—let this be a lesson. Stand by Julie. Be there to listen to her, to hold her hand. Help her make the split final. But stay away from Gary Benton.”
“You’re right,” she said, still staring warningly into Danny’s eyes. He opened his mouth as if he was going to admit the truth. She shook her head and looked up at Declan. “You’re right. It’s just that... He had the nerve to come here!”
“And if he comes again, we have to let him in. And we won’t throw him out unless he starts causing trouble or gets in a fight or something—and there’s no spitting in his food or his drinks, either. All three of you—you and Danny and Kevin, too—are off pursuing careers, which is wonderful. But the bar is my livelihood—and it’s all our heritage and what you have to depend on, too, if life doesn’t work out for some reason. We will not discriminate against anyone, do you understand me?”
“It’s not illegal to discriminate against assholes,” Danny said.
Declan shook his head in aggravation. “Danny!”
“Sorry. All right, if the jerk comes in, we won’t show him the door,” Danny said.
“Kieran?” Declan said.
“Hey, I served him coffee without throwing it on him—or even accidentally spilling a single drop,” she said.
“Good. But in future, stay away from him, let someone else take his order. Please,” Declan told her.
She nodded grudgingly.
“Now go home, kid—you don’t need to be here. Mary Kathleen is on the floor with Danny, and I have the bar. We’re fine. Kevin’s been behind the bar with me, but as soon as things slow down I’ll send him home, since he has an audition tomorrow. So go home. And not to be rude, but I suggest you take a bath.”
The door opened again. It was Kevin this time.
“It’s slowed down. Maybe the crowd was just waiting to applaud Kieran and now they’ve all gone home to talk about her. I’ve got my car, so I can drive Kieran home on my way.”
“I can get home—” Kieran began.
“With me,” Kevin said.
“Declan said you have an audition in the morning. You need to go straight home and get your beauty rest,” she said, smiling. “Although you’re beautiful no matter what.”
Kevin winced. “Men aren’t beautiful!” he said.
“Ouch,” Danny said, laughing. “He’s a manly man, you know.”
“What about you? You have work tomorrow, too,” she reminded him. Danny was outgoing, and despite the problems he’d had in the past, he was a keen historian and the tour company he worked for loved him.
“I’m off tomorrow,” he said. “Sundays and Tuesdays, remember? I’ll help Declan until closing,” he assured her.
She looked away, still uncomfortable that they weren’t telling Declan and Kevin the truth but absolutely certain that she didn’t want to tell them more than what they already knew.
“Well, in my mind, Kevin, you are beautiful!” she said, returning to a safer topic. “And you’ll be great tomorrow. Break a leg.”
“Thanks. And I’m going to my car now, and you’re going with me,” Kevin said.
It would be worse to argue than to go along. She said, “Okay, thanks. I could walk it if I wanted to, and I know the subway like the back of my hand, but a ride from my twin will be nice.”
Kieran stood, hugged Danny and Declan, and then followed Kevin out of the office through the side door. He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked down the street.
“That must have been scary as hell,” he told her. “How the hell you didn’t lose it, I don’t know. I don’t think I would have coped as well.”
“Thanks—but I think you would have done everything exactly the way I did. We were brought up to do the right thing. Maybe kids remember even more when they’ve lost both parents,” she said.
“We’re not kids,” he said quietly.
He didn’t say anything more until the attendant had brought his car down from the garage nestled in the next block, and then it was only to thank the man and give him a tip. They were parked in front of her apartment before he finally said something else to her.
She moved to get out of the car, but he stopped her.
“Kieran, I don’t know what you told Declan, and I don’t intend to say another word. But I think there’s more to the story of why you were in that store. Something to do with Danny. I don’t even want you to tell me—unless there comes a point when you need to for some reason. Danny is my baby brother, too, and Julie’s also my friend. But don’t go getting yourself into trouble because the two of them have concocted some wild scheme. You’re a therapist now—talk them out of it.”
She leaned over and hugged him tightly. “Best twin in the world,” she told him. “But I swear with my whole heart, I will not get into any trouble with those two, and I’ll make sure they don’t get into trouble, either. I’d like to believe that...”
She hesitated.
“That they learned something from what happened to you today?” Kevin asked her drily. “Never mind—I meant it when I said I won’t make you say anything. You always keep my confidences, so I don’t expect you to break anyone else’s trust. But if you run into a problem again, keep me in the loop.”
“I swear,” she promised.
He nodded and smiled, then watched until she was safely inside her building.
Upstairs, she threw off her jacket and tossed down her bag, then headed into the bathroom to give her face a good scrubbing. When she saw herself in the mirror, she realized stronger action was called for, so she stripped and jumped into the shower.
It wasn’t that late when she dried off, feeling like a new woman, but she didn’t want to see more of herself on the news, and she was exhausted. She lay down to sleep, but her heart kept pounding. She couldn’t deny it. She was worried.
Hiding what she, Danny and Julie had been up to from Declan and Kevin had proved easier than she had thought it would.
But she was dreading the next day and her time with the FBI agent with the dark hair and deep smoky voice and those light eyes that seemed to look into her with the power of an X-ray machine.
* * *
Craig Frasier sat in the office in the near dark, alone except for the skeleton night staff. He’d made Mike go home, knowing that he was being obsessive and not wanting to drag his partner into the pit after him.
He simply didn’t believe that they had caught the thieves they most needed to catch: the ones who killed.
The thieves themselves denied it, and their guns had been fake.
But he understood the desire in law enforcement to believe a case was closed, and a lot of people simply didn’t want to accept the idea that there could be copycats out there—copycats whose MO was so perfect in every detail...except that the guns they carried were real. The prevailing belief was that there was only one set of thieves who, having established that they were willing to kill to get what they wanted, no longer felt the need to carry real guns and had switched to fakes in order to create confusion and make a case for a lighter sentence if they were caught.
The NYPD had made the arrest. The charges would be up to the district attorney’s office. Somewhere the powers that be, whose influence went far beyond his own, were arguing about that right now.
They wouldn’t ask his opinion.
But that didn’t matter. What did matter was whether there were still killers out there—and he was willing to bet cash money that there were.
He leaned back, rubbing his eyes. He thought about the way things might have ended—and how that too-attractive-for-his-own-good redhead had actually had the sense to do something other than scream and expect the world to save her.
She’d saved his ass—or would have, had the gun been real.
He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking about her. She hadn’t wanted any attention from the press; in fact, she had paled at the very mention of it. Strange. Most beautiful women—no, she wasn’t just beautiful; she was stunning—welcomed attention. As gorgeous as she was, she could have been hitting the stage or a runway somewhere, a tall, blue-eyed redhead with legs that stretched forever. But instead...
He reached into his pocket for the card she had given him. Fuller and Miro. He knew the names; they and their employees were often called in as consultants. The Behavioral Science Unit of the bureau was in Virginia, and they were called in on the most puzzling or unusual cases, especially when local police asked for help. Otherwise, the New York office often looked to local talent to untangle the psychology of a captured killer or profile one who was still at large.
Therapist. And bartender.
Quite an intriguing combination.
For someone who had such talents—and had saved both his ass and her own—she had acted very strangely.
Almost as if she were...guilty herself.
He mulled over the thought. Then, standing up, he stretched and walked to the coffee machine in the break room. He needed to go home and go to sleep, but he could use a cup to get that far. The coffee here was wretched; they kept a regular pot instead of investing in pods. But that was all right. Wretched coffee was still better than no coffee.
He lifted the cup to his lips and realized that in the midst of the fray, she’d reminded him of someone.
Of Caroline.
He smiled at the thought.
Caroline had been blessed with that same ability to think on the spot, to behave rationally and, most important, to know when to hold—and when to fight back like blue blazes.
He hadn’t really thought about her in years now. And truthfully, she had been nothing like Kieran Finnegan. Caroline had been a petite blonde with hazel eyes and a smile as big as the world.
He felt a dull ache and shook off the thought. He hadn’t allowed himself to get morose in years. It had all been so long ago. And yet he knew that when Caroline had died, something in him had died, too. He’d lost the ability to get close to a woman. No matter who he met, no matter how sure he was that he wanted to find something close to what they’d had somewhere along the line, he’d just never met anyone with her fire and humor, charm and...heart.
He drained the coffee, returned to his office and turned off the computer. It was time to go home.
And if he thought about it, he was intrigued.
He forced his mind back to the case. Maybe she could help by watching the video surveillance of the deadly robberies and spotting something one of the men she had encountered had done that was different from what was on the tapes.
And maybe he could find out just what she was hiding.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_104eaf8d-a528-5194-a86a-84330b3ea505)
THE FIELD OFFICE was toward downtown on Broadway, not very far from Finnegan’s Pub, but, with traffic, Kieran knew it would be a thirty-minute trek from the Midtown offices of Doctors Fuller and Miro. She had barely gotten to work before a black sedan with a black-suited agent—wearing black-framed sunglasses—arrived to pick her up.
She had only just slipped into her own office—a small room not much bigger than a walk-in closet, but at least it had a window—when Dr. Allison Miro came to her door. She was generally a stern-looking woman with her slim, perfectly compact body and short, crisp, iron-gray hair, but that morning she gazed at Kieran with concern and compassion.
“Kieran, dear girl, thank the good Lord that you’re all right. When we saw the news...well, we were quite concerned. Anyway, you’re a heroine, my dear. We’re so proud of you.”
Kieran was startled when Dr. Miro walked over to where she stood by her desk and hugged her. It was a slightly awkward hug. Kieran wasn’t expecting it, and Dr. Miro was a good half foot shorter than she was. The older woman didn’t seem to notice that Kieran rocked back slightly, startled, before hugging her back.
“I’m fine, really, and I’m not a hero, just a survivor,” Kieran said.
“Kieran!”
She recognized the deep, rich, masculine tone, and she looked up to see that Dr. Fuller had joined the party. Her employers were a living representation of “the long and short of it.” Dr. Bentley Fuller was six foot three, lean and fit, and he could have starred in a “male enhancement” advertisement. He was about fifty—a ruggedly handsome fifty. She knew he maintained his health and physique by religiously adhering to the strict tennis-playing schedule he’d set for himself.
He walked over to her, leaving Dr. Miro sandwiched between them in the cramped space.
The two doctors were not a romantic duo, but they shared the same interests and respected one another’s work ethics. Dr. Miro was a grandmother. Dr. Fuller had a lovely—equally tennis honed and perfect—blonde wife. She was a kindergarten teacher, and, in Kieran’s opinion, very sweet. She and Bentley were as perfectly matched as a set of Barbie and Ken dolls.
“Thank God you’re all right,” he said.
She extricated herself from Dr. Miro’s hug and stepped back, smiling. “You two deal with some of the most hardened criminals in the NYC system. I managed—with the help of an FBI agent—to escape squirt-gun-toting thieves. Thank you so much for caring. I truly appreciate your concern.”
“Of course, of course,” Dr. Fuller said. “And you need to go. I came to tell you that your car and escort are here.”
“Oh, yes, sorry. I didn’t have a chance yet to ask you if I could take the time—”
“You know how much we value our relationship with law enforcement. Take all the time you need,” Dr. Miro said.
“Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as—” She broke off. She’d been about to say as soon as possible. She restructured her reply. “As soon as I’ve done everything I can possibly do to help.”
But what that was, she really didn’t know.
Dr. Fuller shooed her out of the office to where her “man in black” was waiting in reception. Jake, the receptionist, wasn’t so much as looking at the agent. He was making every effort to look busy. The agent just stood there with his expression impassive and his hands folded behind his back.
He escorted her out, and she saw that his car was double-parked; apparently, for him, that was legal.
He opened the door for her and she stepped in. He was polite without showing the least emotion; she felt as if she had stepped into a movie about alien pod people.
The drive was silent, which made it feel even longer than she’d known it would be.
When they finally arrived, she discovered that no matter who you were, you went through the security screening. As she stood in line she realized that a lot of very normal people worked in the building. Three women in line in front of her were holding their Starbucks cups and chatting as they waited to go through the metal detector; behind her, two men were arguing over the virtues of an iPhone versus an Android phone.
Once through security, she was whisked up an elevator. The doors slid open, and she exited directly into a clean and sparse reception area where a young woman, who had apparently been waiting for her, greeted her then led her down a hall to a small office with a table that held a computer and several sheets of photos.
“I’m Millie,” the young woman told her, shuddering slightly. “Sounds ancient, doesn’t it? Short for Millicent. I don’t know what my parents were thinking. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? A soda or a bottle of water?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Kieran murmured.
Just then Craig Frasier stepped through the still-open door and said, “Morning, Millie. I’d love some coffee. Miss Finnegan, won’t you join me?”
“I’ll be right back,” Millie said cheerfully.
“Thank you,” Kieran said, as the other woman left.
Agent Frasier was wearing a suit very much like the one her escort had worn, though he had left off the sunglasses—inside, at least. She was struck again by the man’s rugged good looks and masculine appeal. She had seen several men down in the lobby who were tall, honed like steel and handsome. She was starting to think that it was an agency requirement. Or perhaps the job just called for people in good enough shape to jump over fences and coordinated enough to run through a traffic jam.
Agent Frasier smiled at her. “Thank you for coming in,” he said.
Did I have a choice? she wondered.
“Of course,” she said. “My employers understand my need to be here—they are frequently called in to work with law enforcement. They do psychological profiling, decide whether a defendant is fit to stand trial, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, I know,” he told her, but he didn’t elaborate on how he knew. She wondered if he’d worked with either of her bosses or if he’d run a background check on her.
“There are three pictures in front of you,” he told her, all business. “I’d like you to look at them.”
She nodded, sat down and glanced at the photos. They were of the thieves, and they were dressed completely in black—right down to their ski masks.
She looked over at him. “They’re in ski masks.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. You’ve already caught the thieves who took me hostage.”
He smiled. “Lift that top sheet. There are four mug shots underneath. Those are pictures of the men we caught last night, minus the ski masks. What I’d like you to do is take the shots from the jewelry store last night—from their security tapes—and line them up with the mug shots. Then I’d like you to compare them with some other pictures I have of a different robbery.” He hesitated and then said, “I don’t mean to lead the witness, but I don’t believe they’re the same men.”
Millie returned just then with a tray that held a coffeepot, two cups, cream and sugar. Agent Frasier thanked her and asked Kieran how she liked her coffee. She said, “Just cream.”
He poured her a cup, added cream and handed it to her. Then he sat opposite her and sipped his own coffee. The room grew very quiet.
At first Kieran felt unnerved. He sat there in silence, leaving her to study the photos, but there was no way for Agent Frasier to be in a room and not be noticeable.
She tried to give her attention to the pictures. The sooner she did what he’d asked of her, the sooner she could leave.
To her surprise, she quickly found herself deeply involved in what she was doing. According to their mug shots, the men who had been arrested the night before were Sam Banner, Robert Stella, Lenny Wiener and Mark O’Malley. She glanced at their faces and the stats on their mug shots, and then at the security stills, comparing carefully. Finally she went through them, pointing. “Mark O’Malley was driving the van, obviously. Looking at height and build, I think Sam Banner was the one who dragged me through the store and down the alley.”
Agent Frasier nodded. “All right. Now I want you to compare them to the men from the other robbery.”
He got up and moved to stand behind her, then pulled another sheet of photos from the bottom of the stack. “I realize it’s difficult, but do you recognize the men from yesterday in any of these other photos? The way they stood? Something else? I can show you some video, too.”
She was acutely aware of him behind her. The fabric of his suit, the heat of his body, the scent of his aftershave.
“Uh, video would be great.”
He reached over to tap the keyboard. His nails were neatly clipped. His fingers were long, and she was certain that his hands would be powerful.
She swallowed and tried to concentrate.
After a minute, she miraculously managed to do so. She took control of the keyboard herself, running the footage and stopping it when something struck her.
“There,” she said, pointing. “That’s Sam Banner. You can tell by the way he’s standing and by his height.”
“All right,” Frasier said, “what about this footage?”
He reached over again and cued up a new video.
“No, no, I don’t think that’s Sam Banner. They stand completely differently. Sam keeps his legs apart. He’s angled, almost as if he’s casual about what he’s doing. This man, he stands straighter, and he’s visibly tense. Watch his head move. He’s jerky. He looks—”
“As if he’s nervous and liable to pull the trigger any second?” Craig asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Just my opinion based on my observations, of course,” she said, swiveling her chair to look up at him.
He smiled. “Educated opinion, though, right?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, if you asked one of my bosses to—”
“Your bosses weren’t in the van with me,” he said, and walked back to take his seat.
She’d been about to stand; her work here was done.
But the way he sat, leaning forward expectantly, his eyes probing...
No, she wasn’t leaving yet.
“So what were you doing at the store yesterday?” he asked.
She immediately felt defensive, but she tried not to do any of the things that would betray her nervousness. Blinking, wetting her lips...
“A friend works there,” she said. “I went to see if he was there. Well, all right. He’s not really a friend. He was a friend. Not anymore.”
He looked down a moment, a slight smile curving his lips. “Care to explain?”
She shrugged uncomfortably and looked away, but she told herself that was okay. Explaining an awkward divorce would make anyone uneasy.
“Gary Benton was—is—married to a close friend of mine. They’re going through a very nasty divorce. I went to see him to remind him that they were adults and that...” She felt herself stiffen, but she was so angry at Gary that she couldn’t help it. “She went out of town to give him space, and he locked her dogs in a crate and didn’t feed them or let them out the whole time.”
“She should have called animal control,” he said.
“The logical answer, of course, but she was too upset to think straight, and—” She paused and looked away again. “She went to the store and said some pretty awful things. I went to ask him to stop being so nasty and trying to upset her. But he wasn’t there and, well, you know what happened next.”
He seemed to believe that. “Well, thank you again for your help,” he told her. “I’ll get you back to work.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He rose. She kept sitting.
He smiled at her. “I meant that literally. I’ll get you back to work.”
“Oh! Okay, thank you.”
She stood quickly, dismayed to feel herself blushing.
She felt his hand at the small of her back as he politely ushered her out.
She told Millie goodbye and passed another half dozen men and women in well-tailored suits as they left the building, walking past the line where people were still lined up, chatting as they waited to pass through security.
She noticed an interesting group waiting their turn. They weren’t in suits and didn’t look at all like members of the FBI.
“Who are they?” she asked.
“A teachers’ group,” he told her.
“Oh?”
“They’re going to take a class in keeping schools safe.”
“I didn’t know the FBI offered anything like that.”
He flashed her a smile. “We’re a friendly crowd, not the enemy,” he said.
“I wasn’t suggesting that. I just never thought of the FBI as being so...open-door,” she told him. “Practically warm and cuddly.”
“Well, that depends on who you are and what you’re up to,” he told her.
A car was waiting for them. Double-parked again, she noticed. Craig Frasier seated her before walking around to slide into the driver’s seat himself.
“In a city full of very different crimes, I find this to be an especially interesting case,” he said as he drove.
“I think it’s a terrifying case,” she said. “Men holding up jewelry stores and killing people, but making it look as if other people are the killers.”
She realized from his expression, which had hardened as she spoke, that he was accustomed to dealing with people killing people. That had to be difficult. Then again, she had known when she took her job that she would be dealing with criminals whose behavior made her brothers’ previous escapades look like child’s play.
“Actually, I was referring to you,” he said.
“Me?” She prayed there was no fear—or guilt—in her voice.
“Bartender by night, assistant crime fighter by day.”
“I’m a psychologist, not a crime fighter.”
“A therapist.”
“Yes.”
“What sort of cases have you handled?”
She took a breath and shrugged. “I haven’t been in the role that long—I’m pretty fresh out of school. But so far I’ve spoken with a woman regarding a competency hearing. And I was asked to speak separately with a husband and wife suspected in the death of their newborn. That one was very sad.”
“Life can be sad,” he said wearily. “And you’re a bartender on top of all that?”
“It’s a family business,” she said. She winced. Did that make her family sound like the Mafia?
They’d reached her office, she realized. He had the car in Park and was ready to hop out and open her door for her. Professional courtesy? Was he always like that?
“Thank you,” she said quickly, opening her door. “I appreciate the ride back.”
“Thanks for your help,” he told her.
“Of course,” she said quickly as she stepped out of the car, then bent to look back in at him. “Um, goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Miss Finnegan. And my thanks again.”
She closed the door and hurried toward the building. When she got upstairs, she was grateful to discover that both her bosses were in consultation. She hurried to her own office and began to write up her report on the parents she had interviewed the other day. Both were heartbroken; in her opinion, neither had in any way been responsible for the death of their child. It was sad, as she’d told Agent Frasier, but infant deaths still occurred through no one’s fault. She was convinced this was just such a case.
Eventually her bosses finished their consultation and came in to see her, quizzing her about her visit to the FBI. They both seemed pleased that she’d been consulted.
“If you’re needed again, you just go right on over, Kieran,” Dr. Miro said.
“We always help whenever we can,” Dr. Fuller assured her.
She smiled weakly. “Of course.”
They left a few minutes later, and Kieran realized she’d worked through lunch and the day was nearly done.
* * *
Craig spent most of the rest of the day reinterviewing everyone he could get hold of who had been at any of the robberies. The prosecutor, Julian Smith, wanted to charge the men they’d caught with the murders, and they finally got together to discuss that with him late in the afternoon. Craig, Mike and Eagan argued against bringing charges, showed him the security footage, brought up Kieran’s insistence that the tapes showed two different men and emphasized that the men in custody had been caught with toy weapons.
Smith was a hard-ass, though. He wanted to throw everything at the defendants that he could possibly throw. On top of that, the media was already calling them murderers.
Everyone in the city wanted the crime spree to be over.
“They were toy guns!” Craig said, slamming the table with the flat of his hand. “Even a public defender will be able to make that case. Give us some time to work this.”
“Toy guns this time, real ones the last,” Smith said. “You could have been killed, Agent Frasier. I’d think you’d want them locked away forever.”
“And I’d think you would want them charged for the appropriate crimes,” Craig said.
“Yes, well, real guns or not, there are laws—” Smith began.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” Eagan protested, raising a hand. “Smith, give my men time to work this. You’re going to want all available evidence and witnesses concurring about the facts, aren’t you?”
Smith finally left in a huff after agreeing to give them more time. “But not too much,” he’d said threateningly.
It was nearly seven o’clock after a damned long night and day.
Mike was heading to the hospital for a checkup. One of the perks of being FBI was that doctors bent their schedules to see you after hours. Craig offered to tag along, seeing as he had no plans for the night.
“Hell, no,” Mike told him. “Leave me alone. Let me be grouchy and crotchety tonight, go in, go home and then hit a bottle of Scotch and my bed. You should go do something fun. Shake off this job for a few hours.”
But when he left the building at last, Craig wasn’t ready to go home.
And he wasn’t sure why, but he found himself heading for Finnegan’s on Broadway.
Maybe he did know why. Kieran Finnegan intrigued him. She’d been helpful, pointing out body language he might not have noticed himself.
But she’d also been nervous. Nervous just because she’d been in an FBI office?
He doubted that.
He had a feeling she was still hiding something. So what the hell was it?
Had she somehow been in league with the thieves?
He relived the previous night in his mind. It didn’t seem likely, though he couldn’t say it wasn’t possible.
It certainly seemed like a coincidence that she’d even been there. She had a day job, and though he doubted she worked two jobs every day of her life, she’d been slated to work at the bar that night. He knew from the NYPD report he’d read through that she had her own apartment near St. Marks Place. Not right next to the pub, but not much of a subway trip, either. On a beautiful day and with a little time, she could even walk it easily enough.
But if she was involved, what was his plan? Come right out and ask her what the hell she was acting so guilty about in the hope she would confess?
She would hardly admit to being guilty, so that wouldn’t do anything except raise her suspicions and make it even harder for him to figure out what was going on.
He would have to take a more indirect approach. Luckily for him, Finnegan’s was known for its food as well as its hospitality and selection of beers on tap.
Couldn’t hurt to get some dinner.
Old double wooden doors with frosted, etched glass faced Broadway, the sidewalk in front protected by a green-striped canopy overhead. Inside there were a number of booths to the right and a few more to the left, tables filling the rest of the room, and a long bar lined with taps at the rear. The place was busy with the dinner crowd and a number of cocktail-hour stragglers. He quickly saw that Kieran Finnegan was there, standing behind the bar and talking to a waitress. A tall man with dark red hair was also working behind the bar—one of her brothers, he was certain.
He started to head that way, then chose a booth that gave him an unimpeded view of the bar instead. He watched the action for a while. Another tall man, this one with lighter red hair, was working the floor along with two young women.
Before long one of the women headed to his table. He didn’t think that she was a Finnegan. She was petite and blonde, with lively blue eyes and a quick smile. “Hello. Welcome to Finnegan’s. What can I get you?”
He was in an Irish pub, so he figured why not order Guinness on draft? He asked for a menu, as well.
“Special tonight is fish-and-chips. Really good,” she told him.
“Then forget the menu. I’ll have fish-and-chips.”
She brought his beer quickly. He thanked her and sipped it as he continued to people watch. A group of young women seemed to be holding a baby shower. Business executives filled several of the tables. An older couple sat and ate a quiet dinner; the bar stools were mostly filled.
When his food came, he thanked the waitress again. “So this is a family business, huh?” he asked.
“Yup, and the Finnegans are all working tonight. That’s Danny on the floor there, Declan and Kevin behind the bar—and Kieran is back there, too.”
“Are you related, too?” he asked her.
She laughed. “Actually, I’m the only one—well, besides the kitchen staff—who isn’t a Finnegan or almost one. That’s Mary Kathleen O’Shaunnessy over there,” she said, pointing. “She’s Declan’s fiancée. And I,” she told him brightly, “am Debbie Buenger, an old family friend. I went to school with Kevin and Kieran—who are twins, by the way. Anyhow, enjoy the fish. Our food is great, so if you haven’t been in here before, you’re in for a treat.”
“I don’t think I’ve been in before—and I’m pretty sure I’d remember. I have a lot of friends who love this place, though.”
She gave him another of her charming smiles. “What’s not to love?” she asked, and moved on.
The fish was delicious.
At least at first glance, Finnegan’s seemed to be everything a pub was supposed to be. He couldn’t help but allow his mind to consider the possibility that there was something going on beneath the surface, though, since there had definitely been something off about Kieran Finnegan both last night and today. Were they laundering money? Raising funds for the Irish Republican Army? He doubted that. The violence seemed to have dropped substantially in Ireland since just about the time the Twin Towers had been hit.
What, then? Was there an illegal poker game in the back?
He’d nearly finished his meal when he paused, taking a sip of his beer, to stare at the bar again. Kieran happened to look up at just that moment and see him. She was visibly startled.
She also looked guilty—again.
She stared at him so long that Debbie—waiting in front of her with a tray of shot glasses—had to say something to stop her from pouring as whiskey started sloshing over the rim of the glass she was filling.
Kieran looked away quickly, flushing, and reached a bar rag. She said something to Debbie, who smiled and replied cheerfully.
Within a few minutes Kieran came around from behind the bar and walked over to his table.
He liked the way she moved, almost in rhythm with the music of the Dropkick Murphys playing in the background.
For a minute, he thought she was going to demand to know what he was doing in her bar and ask him to leave.
But she just looked at him, puzzled and uneasy.
“Agent Frasier,” she said after a long moment.
“Guilty as charged.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Eating.”
What did she think he was doing there? He would love to know.
“Oh,” she said. “Well. Um, I hope you’re enjoying your dinner.”
“I am. Very much.”
“It’s only pub food, nothing gourmet.”
“I love pub food,” he said blandly, curious to see where she would take their conversation. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Are you watching me for some reason?” she asked him.
Was he?
She was certainly a pleasure to watch, with her long, long legs, blue eyes and fiery hair. But he doubted that saying as much would please her any more than would giving voice to his suspicions that she was keeping something from him.
“Actually,” he heard himself say, “I wanted to talk to you again but figured I’d wait a bit. You seemed to be pretty busy when I came in, and I was hungry anyway.”
“Being busy is a good thing for—for a business,” she said.
He smiled. “Yes, of course. But I was wondering...” He paused, surprised that the right approach came to him so quickly. “The thing is, the prosecutor wants to charge the men from last night with murder, but I don’t think they’re the killers.”
“Yes, I know. I spent the morning studying video footage, remember?” she said, smiling for the first time since she’d come over to his table.
“I’d like to get you to Rikers so you can speak with the men. They were held in lockup last night, but they were arraigned on grand larceny today. The prosecutor wants to add homicide charges right away. I’d like to counter him with more than grainy video, toy guns and my own gut feeling. Would you come with me to talk to them?”
She seemed surprised—and relieved. And still uncomfortable.
“Um, sure.”
He saw the taller bartender heading in their direction. One of her brothers, but which one?
The question was quickly answered.
“Declan Finnegan,” the man said, holding out his hand.
There was a definite family resemblance, at least in height and coloring, Craig thought, rising to offer his hand. “I’m Craig Frasier. Special agent, FBI.”
“Pleased to meet you, and thank you for keeping Kieran safe and sending her back to us. Your meal is on the house. The least we can do,” he added, when Craig started to protest.
“Kieran did extremely well on her own. She’s quite competent in a tough situation,” Craig said. “And thank you, but I need a bill. We’re not allowed to accept gifts, not even a meal.”
Her brother shot Kieran a frown, but he didn’t object. “I’d love to hear more about what happened last night. If you’ve got some time, come on up to the bar when you’ve finished your dinner.”
“Will do,” Craig promised.
Kieran’s face grew a full shade paler. “Great,” she said, not quite managing a smile. Then she turned and walked away.
Her attitude made him even more certain that something was going on, whether at the pub or just with her, and he was going to find out what.
* * *
Things had gone from bad to really bad.
There was Craig Frasier sitting at the bar. And there were her brothers—all three of them—chatting with him as comfortably as if they’d known him all their lives.
Danny didn’t have the sense to realize that a federal agent might, at any moment, ask him questions he might not be prepared to answer. Honestly, her baby brother could be so oblivious.
She forced a smile each time she passed by them, determined not to be drawn into their conversation. But she couldn’t help overhearing, and she realized after a little while that they were talking about city politics, local sports, music and theater, and the newest exhibition at the Met.
By about eleven, the place was almost dead quiet. It was a Tuesday night, and only some regulars were hanging around along with a smattering of tourists, all nursing their last drinks before their night’s rest and the workday or the exertions of touring the city come morning. Both Debbie and Mary Kathleen had called it quits earlier; the chef and his staff were cleaning up the kitchen, and Kieran knew there was no reason for her not to join her brothers and Craig Frasier.
Declan slipped an arm around her when she walked over, studying her with pride in his eyes.
“We heard you kicked butt yesterday,” he said.
She shrugged and admitted, “I wouldn’t have had the chance if Agent Frasier hadn’t burst in the way that he did.”
“And you’re still helping with the investigation, huh?” Danny asked.
“Um, yeah. I guess so,” she said.
“Immeasurably,” Craig said. “She’s very observant about people.”
“Sounds like her,” Kevin said. “She was always psychoanalyzing us as kids. She had us pretty well nailed, too.”
“I’m sure Agent Frasier doesn’t care about my childhood, and it’s getting late,” she said, embarrassed.
“And I have an early call,” Kevin said. “Time to go.”
He’d gotten the job he’d auditioned for. She wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but it had something to do with being a singing potato chip.
“Wanna take me home on your way?” she asked her brother.
“I’m not going home. I’m sleeping at your apartment,” he told her. “Early call, remember? And I didn’t drive in, because I didn’t want to deal with finding parking in the city.”
“How about I get you both home?” Agent Frasier asked. “I have a car.”
“Oh, really, that’s okay. We can hop a train,” Kieran said.
“Works for me—thanks,” Kevin said, ignoring her.
“You two get going now,” Declan said. “Danny and I can close up. I have the weekly pro cleaning crew coming in tomorrow, so there’s not much for us to do tonight anyway. And thanks, Craig.”
So she was calling the guy Agent Frasier and her brothers were on a first-name basis with the man.
She forced a stiff smile. “Well, thanks. I’ll get my things.”
Kieran didn’t have to make small talk. Kevin talked all the way. Apparently Craig had expressed interest in Kevin’s career, and now Kevin was telling him how grateful he was that he had the family pub to fall back on. So many actors had trouble making it in the city because they couldn’t find jobs to keep them going while they went through the arduous audition process.
They reached St. Marks and her apartment quickly; the traffic was light that time of night. She managed to jump out of the car before anyone could offer to help her. Her brother and Frasier exchanged goodbyes, and then Frasier told her, “I’ll pick you up here tomorrow around eight thirty.”
“I need to talk to my bosses. I know they won’t protest, but—”
“Don’t worry. My boss will take care of that,” he told her.

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